


before the beyond you'll find the eternal city

by writeforyou



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Everyone is an Elven God AU, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, The Fade, Virgin Sacrifice, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeforyou/pseuds/writeforyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an honour, the Keeper said. A blessing. A gift. Pleasantries to make her feel as if her life would mean something more than just sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by shepherd
> 
> based on [this](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46717528#t46717528) prompt on the kink meme. It was supposed to be short and I got carried away but I really love this.

 

It was an honour, the Keeper said. A blessing. A gift. Pleasantries to make her feel as if her life would mean something more than just sacrifice. Alassë had been taught about the sanctity of sacrifice since she was barely knee high. They said that when Elvhenan was beginning to crumble at the edges, their ancestors had been at a loss of what to do. There had been chaos, and not just at the hands of the Tevintan Army that was more frequently encroaching and claiming their land. People ended their own lives from free of the end. She had been told that many clans, all but theirs, blamed Fen’Harel for locking the Gods away where they could no longer give the guidance that their people had needed.

“But, he did it for us, you must understand,” her Keeper had urged, “We were an arrogant people, thought ourselves above, better than so many others, even some of our own. They suffered greatly. The fall of our city was our punishment, and with that world gone, we can start anew.”

The sacrifice was a thanking gift. Sometimes, Alassë would look around at their meager home, would listen to the jeers of humans that came across them, and wondered exactly what they could be thankful for. A mighty city run by the decadent seemed far preferable than this. She had asked her mamae once, but her questions were stopped with a look and a hissed out warning about the gods hearing. So she kept those thoughts to herself and acted as the impeccable student (well, she tried to. There was only so much time you can spend in silence before you need to speak).

And this was her reward.

Sacrifice.

Alassë wanted to laugh at the irony of it all.

She had been woken before dawn by smiling faces. Slender hands urged her from her bed, walked her through their camp to the springs beside the temple. There, she was bathed and sweet smelling oils rubbed into her skin. Markings in red paint were carefully drawn over the curves of her arms, the line of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the tops of her thighs. Before, she might have objected the unnecessary touching, but now, she accepted it in a subdued silence.

The women - she recognised them all, of course, the woodsmith’s wife and the baker and her daughter - whispered and assured her of her beauty, too happy, too pleased. Alassé wondered if they fully understood what was going to happen to her. A part of her hoped not.

She dressed in the sheerest of white fabric. It was supposed to signify modesty, purity, but Alassë felt more naked with it on. She wondered whether it was the same robe that the one before her had worn. She had attended that offering, her Mamae insisted, and there had been so much blood.  She glanced down at herself and swallowed fear that welled in her throat.

The ritual would happen just as the sun hovered over the horizon. It blinded her when she took the shaky steps towards the temple. She was working automatically, could see the people that lined her path and couldn’t comprehend their presence. She glanced ahead of her, Fen’Harel’s worshipping space only partially in ruin, a memory of what they had once been. The Keeper stood on the steps next to her Second. Mawen. They had been the same age in their schooling, despite Alassë being a year older. She thought for a second that it was nice to see the grim set to someone’s face today, and then she saw the ceremonial blade in her hand.

Oh.

So she got that honour.

The Keeper blessed her, the words resounding too loudly. She knew the people below couldn’t hear, could only see, but how could that be the case when everything echoed so?

She was guided to the altar, an eluvian, a mirror into a world that Alassë had wondered about for a long time. She supposed she was going to find out soon enough. She was asked to kneel on the soft cushion placed before it, ominous. She hesitated, thought about running, but with so many eyes, she would never escape. She would be dragged back, and she would be shunned for it. She lowered herself shakily. The words continued, the prayers, ancient elvish, the only words they still had in that tongue, fell without grandeur. Alassë thought there would have been.

And then Mawen stepped forward.  Her hands shook when she displayed the blade in front of Alassë. She wanted to be sorry for her but she wasn’t. The tip of the blade pressed against one side of her neck, the metal cold, stark and sudden in remindering her what was about to happen. She held her lips together and bit the inside of her mouth.

“I,” Mawen whispered against her ear, “I heard counting to three helps.”

Alassë was sure nothing was going to help. She didn’t respond, didn’t close her eyes, stared blankly out into the faces of her clan. Mawen waited a pause, sighed.

The last thing Alassë heard was her low prayer - “Fen’Harel enansal” before the blade slid across her neck and her life blood cascaded from her.

 

*

 

Alassë awoke to the sound of voices. They were blurred at first, but she knew there were two different people, maybe three. Two males maybe, definitely a female. They were arguing. Maybe. She wanted to say she didn’t really care, but she did, a little too much, because even though her head was hurting and her body felt heavy, vision blurring, focus slowly coming back, she could remember. She knew what had happened, and she had never expected to wake up from it.

For one terrifying second, she was met with the realisation of truth. Her stomach churned and she thought she was going to be sick. Her chest heaved, and her throat was sticky - her hands reached for her, felt the scarred tissue and a sob broke free.

“Shit, she’s awake,” one of the voice, gruff, sighed. “I always hope they sleep through this part.”

“Maybe she’ll survive,” the female offered, voice peaked a little in interest.

“I hope she won’t,” the words were spat, layered with frustration.

“Fuck you,” Alassë bit out the curse instinctively, before she fell back into her own misery, the wrongness of what she felt. She swallowed around nothing, clenched her eyes but still tears escaped.

There was a long silence and then pleased laughter. “Oh, I like this one,” the first male said approvingly.

A hand stroked her hair and she jerked away from it, panicked. She was stopped by a soothing hum. “Don’t speak. You need to wait this out.”

Alassë shook her head. Wait it out, how could she do that when she felt like she was dying all over again. She managed to get her eyes open, to look at who was speaking to her. A shem, she noted with confusion. Or perhaps a demon that resembled a human. Both were possible, she supposed. She was all harsh lines and angular features, a scar cut into her left cheek. She wasn’t smiling, expression set with irritation more than anything, but her touch was gentle and in that moment, it was something Alassë desperately needed.

“It won’t take long,” the woman promised. It already felt like it had been going on for an eternity.

But she was right. As quick as the pain had come crashing upon her, it had lifted and Alassë was left shaking, panting, sweating, terrified. Her vision cleared and she could see the figures behind. A dwarf and an elf. The dwarf smiled charmingly when he noticed her gaze and the elf scowled.

Alassë scrambled to sit up, pulled away from the shemlen’s hands. She drew her legs closer to herself, felt more vulnerable than she had ever been before and hated it. “Where am I?” she demanded, voice rough.

“What do your people call it? Ah, yes, the Eternal City,” the dwarf informed her.

The place of the gods. “It’s real?”

“For the most part,” the shem stated, as if that explanation anything at all. She stood up, so much taller than Alassë had expected, and joined the men. “Find somewhere for her to stay.”

The elf’s eyebrows furrowed downwards in disapproval. “Why must I?”

“Because she was your gift, Chuckles,” the dwarf reminded him seriously, “You’re problem, not ours.”

Alassë’s eyes widened, startled. They went to the elf, took him in. Pale skin; sharp point to his nose and ears, like the rest of their people, made all the more prominent without the hair to frame them; extravagant mage robes, red and gold woven together into markings - similar the ones she now bore on her own flesh, but not quite. “You’re Fen’Harel?”

He frowned at her. “These days, I much prefer the name Solas.”

“But you’re real?”

‘Solas’ sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned his attention back to his companions. “And what do you expect me to do with her?”

“Nothing she doesn’t want you to,” the shem - or perhaps not, Alassë didn’t really understand - ordered sharply, an underlying threat in her words. Alassë was comforted by it. Solas jerked his head in answer, accepting it.

“Come, get up,” he commanded of her roughly.

Alassë narrowed her eyes at him and stayed stubbornly in place.

His jaw locked in place.

“Now now, children, play nice,” the dwarf teased.

Solas rolled his eyes to the heavens and back again. “Follow me. Stay on the floor. I don’t care.”

Alassë debated the pros and cons of staying exactly where she was, but the idea of being alone right now, after everything, scared her. So she stood, on shaking legs, wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to shield the finer details of her body from the gazes of these strangers. She stood up straight, made herself taller. The shem looked at her approvingly.

 

*

 

Fen’Harel - Solas, whatever he liked to be called - wasn’t anything like she had expected him to be. She tried to think of the stories she had heard. The god who saved them all. The god who most hated. A trickster god, with the ability to walk between the pantheon and the Forgotten Ones, to into a wolf. She had imagined him older, like their last Keeper had been - frail, eyes that had seen too much, but contained so much power. Perhaps she had imagined him a little monstrous.

But he wasn’t either of those things. He was...she couldn’t name it.

Alassë stumbled after him, clutched her clothing tighter to herself. They didn’t come across anyone, it had been just the two of them since the shem and the dwarf - “Call me Varric, she’s Cassandra,” he introduced. “Are those your real names?” Alassë asked, eyes darting to Solas and back again. “Those are the names you shall call us,” Cassandra replied firmly - but she knew people were there. It was like she could feel the presence in the wind. It was unnerving.

“Spirits,” Solas informed her after a moment, although it seemed as if it pained him to do so, “Harmless. You’ll get used to it soon enough, if you choose to stay.”

“Choose? I have a choice?”

“I have no interest in keeping you as a slave, asha.”

“I have a name you know,” she replied irked, “You can ask.”

“Yes, but asking might lead you to believe that I care,” Solas retorted. Alassë sniffed pointedly, and glared at the back of his head. His shoulders hunched, as if he could feel it, and then he sighed and gritted out, “What is it then?”

She thought about not answering. “Alassë.”

“Does me knowing your name make you feel better?” he mocked.

“A little,” she said honestly.

He huffed again and moved forward with more determination. That was fine by Alassë, she wished to spend the least amount of time in his company as possible. A curse of his name swirled in her mind and she bit her lip to stop herself from saying it.

Now that she thought about it, the Eternal City wasn’t what she expected either. She had imagined a golden city, even more magnificent than the one the shem’s sung about in their chant, with domes that glistened without sunlight reflecting off them. A monument to Elvhenan. But it was just ruins. She had seen more than enough of those. The sky though, that was a truly remarkable thing. Blurs of purples and greens and light blues. Like the simmer to the eluvians. It was beautifully unnatural.

He led her into what appeared to be a castle, the only thing that appeared to be completely whole in this entire world. It was huge, beautifully decorated and yet still, it was as empty as the town.

“Is there more of you? More...” Alassë didn’t say gods, because she wasn’t sure.

“Yes, there are a number of us. They don’t usually keep their distance, far too wrapped up in each others business, so be thankful for the break.” He said it almost affectionately. Alassë was surprised by it, but Solas seemed the same. His face pinched and when he spoke again, that softness was gone, “At any rate, by dinner, they will be here to take you off my hands for a few hours.”

Alassë flushed with anger. “You know I’m not a child. You don’t need to watch over me.”

Solas looked at her then, and her steps faltered just a little under the intensity of it. It spoke of things she didn’t fully understand, or perhaps didn’t want to understand. The markings on her body felt like brands, they burnt, until he looked away and the pressure was relieved.

“To me, all the Dalish are children,” he said simply. She got the impression he wasn’t saying everything, but she wasn’t sure whether she could stand him looking at her like that again. So she stayed silent.

The room that he declared would be hers was elegantly designed, much too big for her alone, and it had her side eying Solas nervously just a little. There were many reasons, after all, that it was a virgin that was giving in offering. The god though didn’t seem all that interested, glanced around the room and said something like “Josephine does get carried away with herself”, before asking her, “Are you satisfied with these rooms?”

Alassë swallowed. “Yes, they’re...lovely.” Her fingers brushed along the fur at the end of the bed - large, made to fit not just her but - and removed them quickly. “Are these...your rooms?”

“No, mine are on the other side of Skyhold,” he informed her after a moment of silence, “Do you wish to be in my rooms?”

She didn’t say anything, but she was sure her face gave it away.

An amused smile played on his lips. “Then, here you shall stay. I will not take you to my den until you wish to be there.”

Alassë felt inexplicitly relieved, felt her shoulders relax, but she was still uncertain. If she was not here for...that, then why was she here? Why keep her? What did he want from her?

“You think rather loudly,” Solas mused.

She snapped back, “What? You can read my thoughts now?”

He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. “No, but the questions do show rather obviously on your face.”

Alassë didn’t look away, even though she wanted to.

He continued, “What I wish, is for you not to be here at all. Year after year, I get Dalish like you coming into this world and while there are many things I could do to you, I do not wish to. I tell them, what I told you. I have no intention of keeping you as a slave. You are free to stay, and you are free to go. Most chose to go.”

“Go where?”

“Beyond. Where your people should go when they die.”

It should have comforted her, knowing this. Maybe it did a little, but not as much as it should. She thought about the centuries of this tradition in her clan, all those people, girls and boys, like her, who had been chosen. Who had their lives taken. Somewhere back, their families would have thought it was a great honour to have their child picked, to know that they would be with the gods. And the god didn’t even want them there. She wanted to hate him for that, but she couldn’t entirely blame him. Who would ask for the kind of gifts that had been given to him?

“I died because my clan thought they were honouring you,” Alassë informed him, tried to stop her voice from shaking. “Are they?”

Solas eyed her, pondering, and didn’t answer her straight away, but then he didn’t need to. She was pretty sure she had figured it out.

 

*

 

When dinner came, it wasn’t Solas that came to fetch her. Alassë wasn’t really surprised, he had left in such a hurry, but another dwarf, a female, did have her a little taken aback.

“They sent me because I’m the less threatening one,” she explained. “I’m Sol.  Here,” she shoved a bag into her hands, “Solas managed to convince Bull to convince Sera to lend you some clothes. You elves are about the same size.”

Alassë held the bag uncertainly in her hand. “I...”

“You can wear that out if you want,” Sol gestured to the dress.

“Um, no thank you.”

“I thought not,” she nodded, opened the doors that lead out onto the balcony, “The bathroom is that second door on the right. I’m sure Solas didn’t tell you. Water should be okay.”

“But no one’s been here to draw a bath,” Alassë pointed out.

Sol snorted and a “yeah, I know,” was thrown over her shoulder as she wandered outside, giving Alassë some privacy. That didn’t mean that she didn’t stand there for a good minute or so before she made aborted movements towards where she had been directed.

True to the words, next to a table lined with flannels and oils and soaps - they are what gave the room that sweet scent - there was a bathtub in the room, No metal, like she was used to, but what looked like white ivory. It had gold feet shaped into leaves and it curved, waiting for the body that was to be put there. The water sat still in it, until she touched it. It rippled away from her and came back warmed. She was sure she gasped. She wanted to laugh, giggle at the magic of it all, but she figured she’d only embarrass herself, and she slipped the gown from over her head and lifted one leg over the rim of the bath to lower herself in.

It felt nice, just to soak. The water surrounded her and she sighed before she slid fully under the water. When she resurfaced, she felt like she could breathe a little easier. Alassë reached up to ring her hair out, twisted it until it could rest around her neck, onto her shoulder. She pulled the water from the ends, her hands sliding across her collarbone. Her fingers lingered there, and she shuddered a breath.

She had been avoiding touching there at all. The hours that she had spent in her room were mostly spent lying on that bed, hands at her side and struggling with the world that had become her reality. It was her faith and yet, she had never realised how sceptical she was of it all until she was confronted by it. She still wasn’t sure she had fully accepted it, and the mark that brought her there would sit proudly on her neck. Or at least, he should be there but it wasn’t. Her fingers touched and found nothing, just smooth flesh. The realisation made her breath quicken and her mind whirled. More unnatural for her comprehend. She snapped her hand away as if it were burnt, submerged it into water to soothe, and ordered her breathing to right itself.

Alassë Lavellan was strong. She would not break.

She reached for one of the flannels and was methodical in the way she lathered it with soap before she touched her skin with it. She started at her feet, remembered the walk to the temple before and the walk to here - Skyhold, that’s what Solas had called it - after and felt that was the best place to start. Her toes seemed to wriggle a little easier afterwards. She traced circles up her leg, along her thigh and - the markings, paint, remained. She tried again, scrubbed harder.

It didn’t even smudge.

Alassë could see the desperation in her movements, hear the shuddering of her breath as she scoured along the swirls, the detail lines of that marked her as ritualised. Still they remained. Still she tried to wash them away.

She didn’t realise she was crying until a hand covered her wrist, stopped her. She jerked, cried out, and looked up. Sol stood there - she knew it was her, even with her vision watery - and Alassë let out a strangled noise. “They’re not coming off.”

“I know, I know, shush, shush,” Sol tried to calm, took the flannel from her clawed hands and set it aside, before straightening out her fingers, held him against her own. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re freaking yourself out.”

“But why aren’t they - I don’t,” she choked on her words.

Sol brushed a hand through the front of her hair, unwound the twist there. “Shh, don’t think about that. Concentrate on breathing with me okay?”

Alassë wanted to tell her to just explain or fuck off, but she knew Sol was trying to help, so she nodded, watched the overdramatic pursuing of lips and pushing out of breath. She followed until they matched, and Sol was smiling at her encouragingly, and Alassé thought that she could breathe clearly. When the horror had passed, she slowly retracted her hand from around Sol’s, drew it closer to herself. Her legs moved automatically to shield herself.

She asked her question again, slower this time.

Sol glanced at them and pressed her lips into a thin line. “He should have told you,” she muttered darkly. She didn’t say anything else, just gave her strict orders to get out of the bath, dry off and get dressed. “I’ll explain, I swear,” she said and Alassë believed her. She did as she was told, tried not to think too much about the marks and the red raw skin that she tried to keep covered as much as possible with her towel, and then with the cotton shirt that she tugged viciously over her head. She felt better though, even if it was only marginally so, when she dressed and she had plaited her damp hair back from her face. She felt almost like herself again.  

Sol stood in the certain of the room. Alassë carefully closed the bathroom door behind her and stepped forward. “Explain,” she ordered.

“Those markings, they’re claiming signs,” was the explanation she was given. Simple words, but the meaning of them was strong.

“You mean like slave markings?”

“I suppose,” Sol gave a small shrug. “I only know about them because all of you seem to have them. They never go away. Apparently, it’s because of magic embedded in them. You were given as a gift and those are the tags that say who you’re for.”

The urge to scratch them away grew.  She ran her hand over where she knew they were under the shirt. “Do they go away?”

“I’ve never seen it happen,” Sol was honest, at least, but it wasn’t comforting. Even when she added, “But I don’t know for certain, I’m a dwarf, remember. All this magic nonsense - well, I suppose it’s not nonsense anymore, is it?”

“No,” Alassé agreed, but she had ventured into the Fade before. Her magic was strictly controlled, considering her age, she had just gotten out of her schooling years when she had been chosen - she cut off that thought, not wanting to remember - but in her dreams, there were no restrictions and she was free to wander. She had always been afraid though, to venture too far, to call demons to herself, to her clan. Still though, the Eternal City. It was very different.

“How did dwarves get here?” she questioned, needing to divert the subject anyway she knew how.

“There’s only three of us: Lace, Varric and I - and Varric isn’t technically a dwarf,” Sol said, “He just has the form of one lately. Lace had Sera fall in love with her, and then I think she was left for dead, before Varric brought her here. I’m not really sure. She doesn’t talk about it much. As for me, it’s a same old story. Minding my own business, crazy mage doing some evil stuff with elven artifacts, I got in the way, my hand starting glowing and then I was brought here.”

Alassë thought about it for a moment. “You were taken?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

Sol frowned as she thought, her eyes going distance. “I...I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “Time, it passes differently here. It’s weird. I can’t really explain it.”

“Do you miss home?” Alassë asked quietly.

“All the time. Mostly my family, my brothers, but sometimes I forget the world didn’t always feel like this.”

“Heavy.”

Sol nodded, her expression grimly set. “Heavy.”

Alassë was brought to the dining hall in silence. That was okay. She kind of appreciated it. Still needed time to adjust to everything. The journey wasn’t nearly long enough though. She slowed when they got to the door, large and impossibly imposing with those voices, loud and uproarious. She didn’t know for certain what would be beyond them - gods maybe, spirits, demons, Fen’Harel himself - and she wasn’t sure if she could take another shock.

“Are they all there? The Elven gods?” she questioned lowly.

“Probably,” Sol hummed, “It’s dinner, only time of the day that everyone is ever ready on time for.”

Alassë’s eyebrows furrowed worriedly. Fantastic.

“You’ll be fine,” Sol assured. Alassë wasn’t so sure, wondered what would happen if she had her panic out in the open where anyone could see her and didn’t like the idea of people knowing that weakness of hers. So she would be fine, because she had to be. Alassë Lavallen, she reminded herself, and stepped in front of Sol to push her way determinately into the room.

The door creaked louder than she thought it would, drew all eyes to her, and she told herself that was okay.

Faces stared back at her. Human, dwarven, elven - there was even a qunari at the table. It was easy for Alassë to convince herself that they weren’t beings that she had once thought of as mystical. They were just an ordinary, strange ragtag group of people. That was all. But some - Solas and six others seemed to shimmer with silver, and five of the others, there was a red aura on the edge of their person that was impossible not to notice. One of them, a dark skinned woman with a wicked grin, eyed her like one would a meal. Her harsh tongue seemed to echo through the hall.

“I had no idea it was that time already Solas, you must be so thrilled,” she mused dryly.

Alassë’s shoulders hunched, and Solas scowled in the woman’s direction.

“Leave him alone Viv,” a silver coloured, red headed lady scolded, but her lips were pulled into an amused smile.

Another, brown skinned and gentle smiled, waved her closer, tapped the empty chair between herself and Solas. “Come, join us, your food will getting cold,” her voice was soothing, warm, and Alassë found herself obeying without thinking. She slid into the chair carefully, arms folded in her lap, and smiled awkwardly at the bright smile she gave in return.

“I’m Josephine,” the woman introduced. She then proceeded to introduce everyone else, the listing of names that Alassé didn’t recognise from her studies. She wanted to ask about the choices, but couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the flow to bring any more attention to herself. Each one would wave or smile to indicate who they were, and Alassë tried to look like she wasn’t completely overwhelmed by the magnitude. She probably failed, but they didn’t call her on it.

She caught Sol’s gaze as she slipped into an empty spot on the other side of the table. She had let one the men - Blackwall, she thought, maybe, who could keep up - wrap his arm around her shoulders and drop an affectionate kiss to her temple in greeting. Sol leant into the touch, but didn’t look at him, had her eyes on Alassë and smiled in what was supposed to be comforting. It was a little, a familiar - she looked at Solas slyly - and friendly face.

“And this is Elris, he’s,” Josephine said, gestured to the other side of Solas and then hesitated. Alassë hadn’t gotten a good look at the man there, face ducked towards his food, but now, Elris inclined his head towards her and smiled tightly. Alassë might have smiled back if it weren’t for the shock of seeing the red marks so vividly displayed on his skin. Marks like Alassë that meant -

Solas had said ‘most’ moved on. Not all. Oh.

“Like me,” Alassë finished, and Josephine looked a little sheepish, nodding slightly.

“A pleasure,” Elris answered. He sounded almost eerily calm, not even a little phased, and Alassë wondered how long he had been here. How many of their clan like her had he seen pass through here? Too many.

“Likewise,” Alassë murmured back.

Solas shifted awkwardly between them and didn’t look up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Alassë didn’t sleep well that night. When she came down for breakfast, Lace smiled sympathetically over her oatmeal.

“It took me weeks to sleep properly,” she sighed, “It drove me crazy. Drove Sera crazy too. She’s the one I kept tossing into after all.”

Then Lace smiled at her, as if she was sharing some kind of secret. Alassë wasn’t sure what it was, but she returned the look anyway.

“And besides,” she continued, “You have the option to leave right?”

“That’s what Solas said,” Alassë confirmed uncertainly. She still wasn’t sure about that. When she had first heard the words leave him, she had believed it. It was just so matter of fact, that she had a choice, of course she did, how could she not believe him. And she thought of the number of her clan that had been in her place, all those like her and Elris, and knew that if she were truly stuck here, there would be more of them. Skyhold would be filled instead of the half empty state it was in now.

Lace advised, “If you’re worried, go talk to him about it. Solas is reasonable, sometimes,” she latched onto the end as an afterthought.

“Comforting.”

“Point is, he’s being doing this for millennia now, and the bastard kind of likes talking about himself,” the curse was said fondly, “Or if not him, Varric. It’s technically his job to ferry people to the other side, right?”

It clicked in Alassë’s mind. “Falon’din,” she recited.

Lace clicked her fingers. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Do you know why they go by different names now?” Alassë wondered. It felt safe to ask her.

“I suppose they got bored, wanted to change it up,” Lace offered, “Sera said that she’d had enough of being called Anvil by Bull back at the beginning, and she liked the name. I suppose it’s the same with their faces. You know, if you’d been around for as long as they have, you might need to do something different every once and a while.”

“How long have you been here? Sol said that she couldn’t remember,” Alassë questioned.

“Sol came here under different circumstances, she’s an anomaly. Sera said that it doesn’t happen. Maybe her body knows she’s not supposed to be here. You and I, Elris, though, we all got here the same way.”

“You were sacrificed?”

“I was murdered,” Lace stated so bluntly that it actually took Alassë by surprise. “So were you. And so was Elris, even if he doesn’t seem to think so.”

Alassë wanted to ask, but she didn’t have time. Cassandra swept into the hall, deep in conversation with Blackwall and Iron Bull, something about demons, she wasn’t sure. She stopped listening, dropped her attention into her bowl and pretended that they couldn’t see her there.

 

*

It was only when she too restless to function that she made the decision to go to Varric. Falon’Din. He may not have been a god that her clan revered, not like Fen’Harel, but he was the one who walked at the side of their people, lead the old and the sick and the suffering to their final resting place. He was a comforting presence, Alassë supposed. He had been there when she awoke, her arrival in their world. Witty and charming. When it came to Solas, she could only see danger and the blood that had been split in his name. When it came to Varric, she felt safe.

She had stopped to ask Dorian for directions. Well, Alassë had been aiming for Sol’s rooms but she had been intercepted with a heavy hand on her shoulder, a pleased look on his face and the words “unless you want to see Blackwall’s bare arse, I wouldn’t do that”. She must have looked flustered, for all she tried not to, because Dorian laughed.

“Oh, aren’t you cute,” he cooed, “I can see why Solas likes you.”

Alassë jerked. “Solas likes me?”

“Well, he came to dinner last night,” Dorian explained as if that answered everything. It didn’t, and she was pretty sure he knew that but when she went to ask what he meant by that, Dorian had already moved on, asked her where she was heading. She had stumbled over her words, and he had taken it upon himself to escort her to to Varric’s office.

It was a space, warm and dark, light by candle light and the lightness of the sky outside the window didn’t seem to reach this place. Dorian didn’t knock, burst into the room and immediately wrinkled his nose.

From his desk, Varric said, “Don’t even say what you’re thinking Sparkler.”

Dorian held his hands up in defense. “Oh, perish the thought. As if I need to correct you on your taste in decor. I’m sure Josie will be so impressed.”

“Oh, don’t bring Ruffles into this. She doesn’t need to know. I kept your damn crossbow,” Varric complained, gestured towards the handcrafted weapon that had been mounted above his head.

“Well, that was some of my best work,” Dorian preened.

“Bianca is a work of art,” Varric agreed, his smile fond.

“You named a crossbow Bianca?” Alassë questioned, and felt uncertain when the eyes of the two gods’ turned upon her.

“He has a soft spot for the name,” Dorian replied, his affection clear.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Do you need something?”

“As much as I know you adore my company, I was just being a gentle god and escorting our new friend to you.” Dorian tugged her forward, claimed he had a date with Bull and swept out of the room, tossing a wave in goodbye over his shoulder. Varric’s door shut behind him quietly.

“Damn bastard is always like that, you’ll get used to it,” Varric assured with a fond sigh.

“He’s...a little much,” Alassë commented, “But he seems nice.”

“Oh, don’t let his smile charm you into think he’s harmless. He’s the one who thought it was a great idea to grant your people the ability to make sharp things.”

June, Alassë guessed. She smiled softly. “I’m not in the habit of mistaken gods for harmless.”

“A good habit to have,” Varric nodded approvingly. “What can I help you with?”

“I just wanted to ask a few questions. Understand a few things,” she took small steps towards his desk.

“And so you came to me instead of Chuckles, I’m flattered,” Varric drawled.

Alassë huffed, folded her arms over her chest. “Solas doesn’t seem to care too much for my company, and  I won’t endure the presence of someone who won’t look me in the eye properly.”

“Perhaps he was distracted by other assets,” Varric mocked, gestured dramatically to her.

“I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m speaking you then, and not him,” she said through gritted teeth, “Otherwise he’d be too blinded by them to concentrate.”

Varric laughed goodnaturedly. “Oh, I like you, Snap.”

“Are you going to answer my questions or not?” Alassë demanded.

He sighed overdramatically, made a show of setting his quill against the parchment, and gesturing her to the side beside him. He locked his hands and looked at her imploringly. Alassë pointedly ignored the sarcasm that was heavy in every movement, and sat down.

“I just- Solas said that I can choice to leave. Leave where?”

“Beyond,” Varric had a gesture with his hand.

“What’s Beyond?”

“Beyond here. I can’t tell you anymore. It would ruin the surprise.”

“I’m already dead,” Alassë objected, and Varric replied with, “and yet there is still somewhere else you can pass onto. Funny that. Next question.”

Alassë frowned, folded her arms across her chest and reluctantly moved on. “Am I really allowed to?”

“Pass on? Of course, what kind of barbarians do you take us for?” He stopped thoughtfully, and added, “Unless you mean will Solas let you go.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t meant to be.

“He’s Fen’Harel and I’m his,” she cut herself off sharply. She was his slave. Everyone already knew that. It didn’t need stating.

“He’s not like that anymore,” Varric stated.

“Did he make Elris stay?”

“No, that was his own choice. Although, I imagine Solas often wished he’d make a different one.”

“Why?”

He hesitated for a moment, looked as if he were debating whether he should say what he was thinking, before he did. “You’ve met Solas right? The man doesn’t scream social niceties. And not every one of you comes here without expecting something from him, one way or the other.”

What had she expected? The end. Nothingness. The Beyond. Not this. But she could remember hearing people speak about how wonderful it would be to be chosen, what it would mean. Some thought of the riches of the clan, of prosperity, of tradition. Others thought of the rewards on the other side, jewels and riches, a life where you could not want for anything, and in a world where their people did nothing but want, Alassë could understand the appeal. It shouldn’t surprise her. Nothing should at this point.

“How do you know I don’t want anything from him?” Alassë questioned.

Varric answered with “because you came to me, not him,” and she couldn’t dispute it.

 

*

 

Alassë didn’t mean to see Solas, she just kind of ran into him. She had gotten lost, turned a corner and found him there, in a vividly painted hall. She had been amazed by it, the bright boldness of the colours in a place that seemed overtaken by pale shades. She hadn’t seen anyone at first, hadn’t felt like she had to guard her gasp of surprise or the wondered look in her eyes or silence the padding of her bare feet against the stone floors.

He had to know that she was there, and still he waited longer than he should have before calling out. “What are you doing here?”

Alassë yelped, caught her foot on an uneven stone slab, and winced at the pain that shot through her. Solas peered over the side of his chair at her. With the back facing her, he had been almost entirely hidden from her view. He looked unimpressed, but Alassë was pretty sure that was one of the few expressions he actually possessed the ability to form.

“I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she commented, awkwardly rubbed her injured toes against the back of her calf in an attempt to soothe them.

He repeated his question again, slower this time.

Alassë huffed. “I was just exploring.”

“Shouldn’t someone be watching you?” Solas looked pained.

“If you insist on me needing a babysitter, perhaps you should take up the mantle yourself,” Alassë shot back, irked. The look on his face tightened and she felt triumphant. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be here?”

“It’s my library,” he informed her. “No one comes in here.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

He blinked once. “Because it’s my library.”

Alassë glanced around her. The bookcases were pressed against the walls, and each was filled, packed, crammed with books. Even from where she stood, she could see some frayed at the edges; some pages dog eared and others spines cracked. She would have suspected that, in a place like this, nothing grew old and decayed. Because everything was already dead. It was strangely comforting, to see something so real. She found herself walking towards them, just needing to be near them.

Behind her, Solas stood up hurriedly. “Don’t touch anything,” he ordered, a tinge of panic seeping into his voice.

She paused, gave him a look over her shoulder similar to the one that he had given her earlier. “I’m not going to break anything.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced. Folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve heard that before.”

“You mean people have come into your library before?,” Alassë mocked and tilted her head.

Solas frowned. “Once. Which is why I don’t like to do it now.”

It was a clear dismissal, but she ignored it. Turned her attention back to the line of books. She made a show of tucking her hands under her armpits, no touching indeed, and inclined her head forward so that she could read some of the titles lined across the spines. “You have a lot of books on the Fade,” Alassë mused, “Why?”

“It interests me,” Solas answered with a sniff. He hesitated before adding, “It’s...not something that can be easily explained.”

“I would have thought that a god would know everything,” Alassë mused.

“We don’t,” Solas disagreed, “we have flaws, make mistakes. We learn.”

“Will I?”

“I don’t see why not. Would you want to?”

Alassë shrugged. “I enjoyed schooling. Not the teaching so much, but learning magic was...” she trailed off.

Her magic. She hadn’t felt it since she had entered this world, and it terrified her how long it had taken her to notice. How could she have just forgotten? She remembered how she loved the thrum of magic threw her. It was a constant thing, became stronger when she utilised her magic, even more so during hunts. But now she felt nothing, just this strange absence. A call that she wouldn’t get a response to. Under her arms, her hands clenched into fists and out again. She breathed slowly through her mouth.

Alassë Lavallen, she thought desperately.

Solas didn’t seem to notice. He tilted his head, eyed her curiously. “I was not aware that you were gifted with magic.”

She swallowed. “Apparently it’s something easily overlooked, even by myself.” She lowered her hands to her side, arched her shoulders. “Does magic not work here, is that why...”

“No, it’s not,” Solas tried to explain, stopped and tried again, “The markings. They’re...designed to make the wearer...less likely to...”

“Fight back?” she replied ruefully.

For a moment, he looked almost apologetic. “We are nothing but efficient.”

Her eyes trailed along the clothes he wore, the embroidery that was too similar to what had been placed upon her skin. “You have the same symbols. Do you not like your magic?”

“No,” Solas said forcefully, “Magic is not something be ashamed of. I just...there are many things that I am capable of. These suppress,” he gestured to himself, “it’s safer that way.”

Alassë nodded, but she didn’t truly understand. She wanted to ask about what he had done that he felt the need to keep part of his potential locked away from his thought, that he would willingly bear marks of servitude in order to keep it from happening again. She wanted to, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked, “Will I be able to get my magic back?”

“In time,” Solas replied honestly. “I could help.”

Alassë looked up at him surprised, was amused to see that he equally looked startled by his offer.

“You don’t have to,” she started uneasily.

“No,” he shook his head, “I will help. You should not live without your abilities if you do not want to.”

“I...thank you,” Alassë settled. It was a display of kindness that she wasn’t entirely sure about, not when it came from him. In return, she displayed her own and left his domain in peace.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _fen'harel enansal_ : the dread wolf's blessing. the password used to activate the eluvian.  
>  _asha_ : woman
> 
> *
> 
> kudos and comments welcome!
> 
> thank you for reading, next part should be up soon i thinks
> 
> i have tumblr: [caadash](http://gladers.co.vu/)


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